


Waiting for the World to Start Again

by wacomintuos



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Bad Parenting, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11721693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wacomintuos/pseuds/wacomintuos
Summary: The Niccals brothers end up having a discussion.





	Waiting for the World to Start Again

**Author's Note:**

> Hello here's me writing something out of saltiness that people don't seem to have any idea how to write anything set in MUrdoc's childhood so here's me..... filling that void........ as usual...............

**September 17th, 1976**

Murdoc wakes up to the angry yelling of his family, rubbing his eyes before getting up and pressing his ear to the door in the dark of night. Hannibal and Dad are shouting again, he knows that much. Seems these days it never stops, not now that Han's too old to be beaten when he fucks up. Now they just have shouting matches, yelling down the entire block of council houses and maybe even the rest of the lousy village. 

He barely hears anything of any importance before he's knocked back onto the floor, a little light flooding in before Han slams the door, strips to his underwear, then climbs into the top bunk where he belongs- all in the time it takes Murdoc to catch his breath and get to his feet. "Were you listening in on that?" Han asks him, looking under his pillow for a box of matches. Murdoc frowns, glances at the door, then crawls into bed.

"Didn't really hear anything," he replies, and the mattress squeaks in protest as Hannibal leans over the edge of the bed, a lit fag in his hand. He offers it to his little brother who gladly accepts with a devilish smile. "Cheers. So what was that about, then?"

The mattress groans again as Han lies back down, and Murdoc takes a deep drag as he waits for the response. His young mind is already making up stories, but the truth is dull, although still exciting.

"Nicked off with his cash, didn't I? Saw him leave a wad of pound notes lying about, daft bastard. So I took 'em." Murdoc's eyes widen- Dad must've been wondering where his money had went. Hearing him gasp, Han continued. "Five quid, is what I got. We're bloody rich!"

Murdoc's never seen that much money in his young life, and he doesn't miss the "we". "What do I get?" He demands, thinking of all the records he could buy with a fiver shoved into his pocket. At least twenty, he reckons. Twenty records- now that's a collection. He could finally show Tony and his gang that he's not just the beggar child that gets food thrown at during lunch time. He could be someone, finally.

He's getting ahead of himself. 

There's more rustling from Han's bunk before something falls on the floor, and Murdoc rushes to pick it up, shoving his hand into the little bag, finding sweets!

It doesn't take him long to realise that this is almost definitely a ten pence mix from the ice cream manny who comes around once a blue moon. It doesn't deter him too much, shoving a bit of liquorice down his gob, humming his thanks. It's not much (like, really not much) but it is something, and in life, something is usually better with nothing. Especially when you haven't eaten in two days.

"So, I'm moving out," says Hannibal as Murdoc is happily sucking on the sweet. The boy almost chokes in surprise, hacking and coughing before Dad gives a sharp thump on the wall, telling him to shut the fuck up or Satan will come for him in his slumber. After a few seconds, he pulls himself together, wheezing before spitting the liquorice out onto a bedside table. He'll come back for it later.

"What the fuck?" He whispers hoarsely, clutching his hand-me-down t-shirt before tipping a ridiculous amount of fag ash onto the floor. "You're just leaving? Without me?"

Murdoc can hear Han falter. "I'll still bike home with you after school?" He offers, but it's no help to the boy, who feels hurt and betrayed. "Look, I can't afford to stay here, and you know that. Dad makes me pay rent and I have money now, I can get myself a flat!"

"But you're not taking me?"

He could hear Han’s tone darken, and a feeling of dread made itself known deep in his stomach. Murdoc started praying to any spiritual being that could hear that he hadn’t made Han angry enough to give him a kick in the teeth. “Don’t be a selfish prick, Faceache. If you got the chance, you’d be out of ‘ere in a second.” It was true, but Murdoc still felt... hurt. And the cruel nickname didn’t do much to help with it. 

Scowling even more, Murdoc blew away some smoke before flicking the fag onto the carpet, nimble fingers picking up the sticky liquorice and shoving it back into his mouth. It had picked up some dust from the bedside table, but he could put up with it. “Thought we were mates, was all.” He muttered, then balanced the sweet on his weirdly long tongue. 

“We are mates,” Han agrees, lying back. “Have to look out for number one, though. You’ll get away from the bastard eventually, don’t worry about that.”

“Don’t call him that,” Murdoc snaps, and the reaction is almost instinctive. Han’s always badmouthing Dad. “He’s doing his best, isn’t he? Keep your gob shut.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Murdoc. Our dad’s not a bastard. He’s a slimy cunt who doesn’t care about us. He left an entire fiver lying about and yet you haven’t eaten proper for a week! That shit could keep us going for a month. So don’t you talk to me about how the dickhead’s ‘trying his best’, because he isn’t.” Hannibal doesn’t even sound too animated because the two have had this conversation a thousand times before and it always ends the same way: Han thinks that Dad’s a scumbag. Murdoc will do anything to defend him. 

Murdoc rolls over in his bed, even though a spring will end up digging into his back. He’s bitter and petty and he thinks that maybe if he just turns his back, his brother will cave and listen. It doesn’t happen, and probably never will. It’s too late to kick up a fuss anyway- if they start anything when Dad’s trying to sleep, he’ll come through and make Murdoc sleep face down on the cold hall floor- nothing short of torture. But he’d deserve it for making a racket.

“Go to sleep, Han,” Murdoc mutters hotly, pulling the blanket up to his nose. He’s pretty sure Han rolled his eyes at that, but he’s too sleepy to say anything. He hears the mattress squeak again under his brother’s weight, but then Han settles and everything is quiet, save for Dad’s loud, obnoxious snoring from the next room. Murdoc shuts his eyes and tries to ignore the impending fear of being abandoned, feeling almost as if the wind’s been knocked out of him. If Han’s not here anymore, who will he play games with? It’s not like he has any real friends apart from that ugly girl in the year below him at school who keeps asking for a shag. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want to be stuck performing at the Withered Hand for the rest of his damned life. He wants Han to take him with him when he leaves.

“Stop thinking about it, Murdoc,” comes Hannibal’s voice, and before the boy can question, he continues, “You’re making those weird noises you do when you’re overthinking stuff. God, just go the fuck to sleep.”

Murdoc rolls his eyes, curling up in a ball, Sweet Satan, he would love to sleep, but there’s just too much preying on his young mind. And so, he tries thinking of something else. 

It takes him a good long while, but he ends up thinking of his band. One day, he’s going to be a fancy rock star- he can picture it now in his head, him, famous, singing with a beautiful bass in hand to a rabid audience who scream his name. He’s successful, popular, and the girls are swooning, he’s living the life-

-And he falls asleep not long after, a small smile on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> For notes and references on my historical accuracy- it's mostly about the money. In 1976 when this is set, £5 is worth roughly £100. £1 notes were still in use at the time, up until the 1980s. So when Murdoc said he performed to get his dad £1? Eh, it was more like £20 back then. 
> 
> It is a ThingTM in the UK (idk about anywhere else?) to get little bags of sweets from the ice cream van. Usually they're about 50p and depending on your ice cream man, they can be soooo good.
> 
>  
> 
> YEET tbh that's just about it so I hope ya enjoyed my trash oneshot


End file.
